Peyvand Khorsandi

Yesterday I caught sight of a driver, travelling in the opposite direction, giving the finger to another motorist. Such was his emphasis that his knuckle was challenged to keep the finger from shooting off. ‘How pathetic,’ I thought — until this morning when I extended my own finger into the imaginary bottom of a trucker who’d honked me out of his way. I slowed to make sure he saw my wrist swoop to take a hefty dig up in the air.

Oh, to have him pinned down by Hell’s Angels while I poked his rectum and let him know that I was right. In the event, though, we mirrored each other – he too was frantically gesturing. In a better world, instead of this frustrated mime, we could spread the love and volunteer to sit on our own index fingers on behalf of the other person, and then say goodbye with a thumbs-up.